


milk teeth couldn't hold me

by gigi_originally



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Peter Pan & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/M, I do what I want, fix-it fic for sudden pedophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:16:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigi_originally/pseuds/gigi_originally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wendy returns to Neverland smarter, stronger and older. She's there to free the Darling family from the shadow of the Pan. Maybe she'll even free Baelfire. Somewhere along the decades, she forgets to free herself of Peter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Wendy Darling was a good mother. One of the best, they said. It was a pity she had only one daughter. But Wendy Moira Angela Darling-Brasher paid them no mind. Jane was all she needed. In fact, some days, she thought Jane was all she could handle. 

Wendy had not wanted to be a mother for many, many years. It had taken quite a bit of pressure from her parents and her besotted beau to coax her to the altar. Her brothers, John and Michael, had staunchly defended her position against wedlock. This time, however, it was not in a bid to keep her young. They were far too familiar with the darkness that stalked children in the night; the shadow that brought dreams that quickly turned to nightmares. Not one of three wanted to put any child through that. 

In the end though, society won. The adults were victorious and, almost in her thirtieth year, Wendy was married. Then Wendy became a mother and, it seemed, she blossomed again. 

At eight years old, Jane did not understand the reasoning behind her mother's obsession with the nursery window; Jane knew only that it must always stay locked. Jane knew she must not talk to strangers -- adult or child; real or shadow, magical or not. Jane knew her mother loved to hear about her dreams every morning. Jane also knew she was the only child whose mother would play games with her late into the night, refusing to leave the room until Jane was fully asleep. 

Jane knew better than to ask for stories. 

Jane also knew that, one day just a few weeks before her ninth birthday, she woke up and the nursery window was open wide. Her uncles were downstairs with her father all looking worried. Her mother was gone. 

_There was that boy her parents had taken in when she was young,_ the adults said, _she never stopped looking for him._

They were right Jane found out much, much later. Her mother had gone looking for a boy. But not that boy -- she had gone to save that boy from the Eternal Boy, the Shadow, _the Demon._ The one whose name her uncles (still impossibly young) whispered like profanity: 

_Peter Pan._


	2. Chapter 2

The first year after Pan took Baelfire was the hardest. Wendy was determined to save him and her parents were determined that she should forget he had ever been in their home. Bae was a street urchin; what more had she expected? And also, if she would be so kind as to stop with this childishness about magic and shadows and Neverland, that would also have been greatly appreciated. 

Wendy did not stop. Wendy _could not_ stop. 

She still dreamt of Neverland often. Not every night, but often enough that she knew she had been and had come back. The Pan was always there to greet her; to torment her, to chase her, to feed her empty carcass to the Lost Boys. In her dreams, Wendy ran like wildfire through the jungles of Neverland while Pan flew as a storm behind her. That was the first year. 

The second year, Wendy wanted to grow up. She spoke to no one of her memories, her dreams or her nightmares. She tried to stave off the dreams with thoughts of real, mature things like school and her mother's lessons on etiquette and ladylike behavior. It worked some of the time. The other times, she ran. 

Wendy spent most of her early adolescence running. Then she bled. 

"Something is different about you tonight," Pan announced by way of greeting. 

He sniffed loudly. Wendy froze, horrified. Then he grinned, a sharp slice of malice and mean cut across his handsome face. His eyes gleamed with predatory glee. She could not move even as he pressed his lips against her ear, bony fingers digging into the delicate skin of her shoulders. 

"Oh Wendy-bird," he taunted, "congratulations." 

"I don't know what you mean," she denied haughtily. 

He tightened his grip on her shoulders making her wonder, again, if she would wake up wearing his bruises. She refused to cry out. Years of these games had taught her not to feed the carnivores. 

"You're almost free, Wendy-bird," he murmured. 

The pronouncement would have sounded sweeter if the other shoe was not dangling quite so precariously. She held her breath in wait. Pan did not disappoint. 

"Fly fast, Wendy-bird," he said, "This is your last hunt." 

She ripped out of his hold and _flew._

Three months later, she stood on the same beach she always arrived on, confused. 

The Pan landed in front of her in rush of air and rage. 

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, " _How_ are you here?" 

Honestly at a loss and utterly terrified by the building prospect that she would never escape, she answered truthfully, "I don't know." 

Pan scowled something furious at her before calling for his shadow. His words were familiar and this time -- this time Wendy was happy to hear them: 

"Get _her_ off my island." 

Wendy woke panting in her sheets. 

By the New Year, she was back on that shore and Peter put a knife to her throat. 

"You're too old, Wendy-bird. Stop believing." 

If only he knew a fraction of how much she _tried._ But Wendy's visits did not stop. Apparently, they _could not_ stop. 

It took her years to figure it out but eventually Wendy realized that she could not stop believing in Neverland because she did not _just_ believe -- she _knew._


	3. Chapter 3

The older Wendy became during her ceaseless transits to Neverland, the more she refused to play the Pan's games. She scornfully denounced them as "childish" and watched the fury boil in his depths of his expression. Often, this still ended with her being chased through the jungle with the wolves snapping at her heels. She stopped caring. With her increasing age came some benefits at least. 

Wendy would never be tall but she was taller than she had been the first time she had been chased across Neverland. She could reach branches that used to be inaccessible to her before. Her longer legs ate up the ground beneath her the way she wished something would literally consume this godforsaken place. Sometimes -- rarely, but still sometimes -- she would escape the wolves. And the Lost Boys, true to their name, lost interest in her very soon. 

It was only the Pan who made sure to find her every time. 

As their chases became more and more theirs -- just the two of them and the vast expanses of jungle in which they played -- something changed. 

Taller was not all that Wendy grew. With age came the bloom of womanhood; curves and smoothness and unconscious allure where all before had been innocence. Her nightgowns, bereft of the modesty afforded by a dressing gown, did little to hide these from wicked boy's eyes. Her urgency often made all modesty moot to the point where she would find herself perched in a tree with fabric rucked up about her hips all in the name of freedom and movement. Her mother would be appalled. 

Wendy had long ago learned not to judge anything in Neverland by parental standards. 

By neglecting any thoughts of that kind, she conveniently managed to ignore the feelings flowering in the darkest parts of her. Not in her heart; she had laid that bare for the Pan the first time and he had crushed it. No, these feelings bred in the pit of her stomach, the back of her throat, the hollow between her legs, the cavities of her lungs. They were new and frightening and she knew, inherently, that they were the worst kind of forbidden -- forbidden not only in London but even in Neverland. 

It was almost ironic that it was the Pan who inspired them in her but it was most fitting too. He had contaminated her to the extent that she would contaminate him in turn. She brought her taboo thoughts in all their lascivious, insidious glory to his youthful paradise and forced him to _grow_ with her. 

Or so she thought. 

"Come out, come out, Darling-bird," he sang. 

He had her, she knew. He would not make his position known unless he knew hers already. It was how he worked in all things. He would tease and taunt from all angles but this, this definite point of origin, meant he was right behind her. 

Sure enough, his arms slid around her, caging her to him in what, a few years ago, would have been simply aggression. Nothing was simple anymore. 

"There you are," he breathed into her ear. The heat of it pooled in her core and made her shudder from tip to toe. 

"Scared?" he asked. 

She could feel his smirk against her skin; soft, full lips dragging excitement and terror in their wake. _This_ \-- this kind of contact -- was part of her corruption. 

"I'm not," she insisted. The tremor in her voice had little to do with fear. It stemmed from the wanton, roiling hunger consuming her the longer his body touched hers. 

Peter Pan called himself a boy but he was a young _man._ A long, thin, broad-shouldered young man on the cusp of adulthood. Defiant as he was of growing up, the Pan was no real child. Wendy could feel it in the strong bands of his arms, the tense muscles of his lean torso, the hard press of manhood between his legs. 

"You should be," he told her and there was a new edge in his voice, a different kind of darkness, a more dangerous threat. A delicious sort of _promise._

Suddenly, _insanely,_ Wendy wanted to feel the full weight of those words. She wanted his skin, his mouth, lips, teeth, tongue. She wanted the weight of Peter Pan on top of her and inside her. She wanted all these things she barely understood and could not name. 

"Make me," she moaned. 

_I have finally gone crazy,_ she thought. Neverland had finally won to make her challenge the Pan on his own ground. 

Her breath caught as his whole body went rigid behind her. He would kill her now, she thought, now that he has seen the blackness blooming inside her. Seen the peril she poses to the fragile construction of his world. 

Then he relaxed. His arms wound languorously back around her, fingers accustomed to bruising suddenly gently sensuous against her charged nerves. His mouth caressed her neck and electricity danced its way along his path. 

"Well, well, Wendy-bird. _Finally."_

He spun her and covered her mouth with his. 

The stars exploded above them and the ground opened to swallow their light.


	4. Chapter 4

In the morning, Wendy's memory of the dream did not fade. She had not expected it to. None of the others ever had. But, for once, the events of the night had seemed so unreal that she half-expected them to have actually been the products of her imagination instead of moments truly lived. 

But then what was Neverland if not imagination made real? 

Wendy did not bother to philosophize on the nature of her nightly prison-garden. Instead, she found herself vacillating between relief and horror (and then more horror) as the sun marched steadily forward into the day. 

What she had done last night -- what she had let the Pan do; what she had _begged_ him to do -- had happened on some plane, in some way. She had given her first kiss (and her second, third and fourth until counting was lost to her) to a demon. She was defiled; a harlot by any proper standards. A quiet scandal under her unsuspecting father's roof. 

In the humid half-real jungles of Neverland, the Pan had taken what remained of her childhood's innocence. 

Pan had kissed her artfully, with finesse and experience. Wendy had not known it then, had not recognized it even as it happened. But to be fair, she had barely known her own name under the influence of his mouth and magic. The only things she had been aware of were the unrelenting pressure of soft, full lips on hers, the clawing warmth of his bony embrace, and the pervasive, all-consuming slick, hot _wanting_ of the Pan’s kiss. 

Wendy had never kissed anyone before. Not the way the Pan kissed her, all passion and possession and the slip-slide of his tongue against hers. She had never before had someone else's teeth biting at her lips nor someone else's breath mingling intimately with hers. She had heard of it, of course, from the looser girls in school and the more sensational French novels they had started reading in secret. She had never imagined experiencing it herself. 

_(Lies,_ a voice spat in her darkest of hearts, _you have imagined this. You have imagined this and more with that very same boy, you foolish, uncareful girl.)_

In retrospect, the Pan's ease with changing the nature of their physicality contrasted greatly with any concept of 'boy' Wendy had ever construed. He had been all parts man with his fingers fisted in her hair and his mouth dragging burning trails down her neck. 

Perhaps, in a way, that was a victory for her. She had forced that desire out of him with her femininity. 

It had been obvious, even from her first time on the island, why the Pan preferred to have only Lost Boys. Boys had little interest in girls and when it did manifest, it was as cruel games of pigtail tugging and childish bullying. Anything beyond that ventured too closely to seriousness and the realm of grown-up feelings. 

_(“Love?_ The very sound of it offends me,” the Pan — _Peter_ back then— had sneered at her and her aching heart beating in her hands.) 

So to force this shift, to corrupt the very essence of Neverland with something so close to _grown-up,_ was a victory she would claim. She would not call whatever the 'something' was love, not anymore, but maybe it was even worse because it was so very raw. It felt more feral beneath her skin than the Lost Boys’ bloodlust. Wendy decided by nightfall that she would see things only in light of her victory. She had to or else she would truly go insane. 

As she slipped beneath her blankets, she felt as though there would be no sleep for her that night. There was too much running in her veins beside her blood – too much fear and, humiliatingly, too much anticipation. She thought it a good if dangerous thing. Who knew what the Pan’s reaction would be to her absence? 

Remembering that it had been Pan who pulled away from her, face suddenly angry in the midst of a particularly heated lick to her clavicle, gave Wendy a small measure of comfort. 

_Perhaps I should have fed the fear more,_ she thought as she landed in Neverland’s seas. 

Salt water clogged her lungs as she struggled to the surface. Wendy knew better than to linger in any of the island's bodies of water, its surrounding sea included. The mermaids bent to Pan's will without question, their twittering worship of power overruling any common sense they might have possessed. Wendy did not like the mermaids same as they did not like her. 

As she clambered onto the shore on her hands and knees, she felt more than saw Pan's arrival. Indignant about her unceremonious and obviously intentionally poor landing, Wendy chose to ignore him. She crawled out of reach of the surf and settled onto her knees to wring out her hair. There was nothing to be done about her nightgown, it was soaked through. 

She had managed to get almost all the knots out before the Pan lost his patience. 

He made noise as he stalked toward her. That was the first indicator that it was not safe. The Pan _never_ made noise. Wendy had come to think it impossible on Neverland's soil. Still, his clothes rustled, roughly hewn shoes scratched against the sand, his breath heaved in a disgruntled sigh above her. Everything seemed loud and somehow obscene. 

Wendy kept her gaze averted, suddenly shy and appropriately afraid. Victories -- especially victories over the Pan won on his own territory -- were not without retribution. 

Pan's fingers were uncharacteristically gentle against her skin. He trailed them along her brow and into her hair, the chapping skin on his fingertips creating a sharp sensory contrast that sent shivers down her spine.. Wendy felt her head tilt into the touch of its own accord. Then, abruptly, his hand clamped tight on her jaw. 

Wendy's eyes flew open. The Pan jerked her face upward to meet his stare. It occurred to Wendy in light of recent events that she found him attractive. From his unruly hair and pretty lips and his forest eyes to the corded length of his forearms in the corner of her vision. She did not get to analyze the revelation. There was something hard and confused in the green of his devil's gaze, something angry and hungry all at once. 

"You're _late,_ Darling," he hissed. "I don't like waiting." 

She knew that was a lie. Pan was the most patient boy she had ever encountered. He played the waiting game as well as any other. There was no way to say so though; none that would not cause her harm. Instead of replying, she stayed quiet and waited. 

If there was one thing Wendy knew she could count on, it was that Peter always got what he wanted, regardless of anyone else's role. If you didn't do what he wanted you to, he made you do it anyway. She let her head roll with the pull of his grip but kept her eyes on his face. 

His eyes roamed from her widow's peak down to the arch of her neck. She felt her blood heat under the intensity of his gaze. He yanked her upwards suddenly and her knees dug uncomfortably into the sharp sand. Over-sensitized as she was, she sucked in a harsh breath at the unexpected pain. Pan's eyes sparked. 

"Let's play a game, Wendy-bird," he suggested in that gleefully wicked tone of his. 

She could tell he planned to enjoy whatever it would be. Despite her disadvantaged position, her muscles began to tense in preparation for the chase. Pan seemed to notice this for his smirk grew wider and more cutting. 

"Don't worry, you don't have to run," he soothed. 

Every word was a blade sliding feather-light along her spine. She held as still as possible. Finally, after what seemed an eternity of anticipation -- and indeed it could have been for they were in Neverland -- Pan bent his head to her ear. 

"Wendy, _darling_ ," he whispered lowly. It was a blast of heat along sensitive flesh. Her entire body tightened in response; abdomen pulling taut (wetness rushing between her thighs). She felt Pan's smile against her skin briefly before his tongue flickered out to trace the ridge of her ear. 

"My darling bird," he breathed between caresses, "you can't win at this game." 

She blinked rapidly. "I'm not playing any games." 

He laughed, a deep chuckle that sounded like a man's indulgence rather than a boy's delight. He tugged at her hair again and made her look him in the face. 

"We're always playing this game, you and I," he explained as though to a very small child. "And you _can't_ win." 

Even as she opened her mouth to protest, she knew what he was going to do. He pulled her half onto her feet and fitted his mouth over hers in a way that was both new and startlingly familiar. Her feet scrambled for purchase on the dry, shifting sand as he plundered her mouth with an expert tongue. Her flailing eventually got the better even of Pan's balance because they crashed together onto the ground, limbs tangled in all awkward angles. 

Pan rolled up on top of her, hands pinning her wrists beside her head. His hands were, however, the least of Wendy's concerns. In their fall, her nightgown had been driven up over her hips and the Pan had settled himself solidly between her thighs. She could feel the hard length of him pressing against her most intimate area. Shamefully, she could feel herself growing more aroused the longer he pressed himself against her. 

He shifted slightly, brushing something against some part of her that made her _keen._ It should have been embarrassing but this was Neverland. There were no rules but what they made. Pan stared down at her with wide, bright eyes -- half wonder, half-calculation. Then, he smirked and Wendy would have run, if she could have. 

"You can't win this game, Wendy-bird, because I already know how to play." 

Apparently, she had had far more innocence left than she thought. But even as she discovered it, Pan took it away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this isn't half as long as the wait warranted. I'll do better next time.


End file.
